


First Contact

by Hokuto



Series: Durandal and the Security Officer's Excellent Adventures [10]
Category: Marathon (Video Games)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hugs, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 12:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10786350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hokuto/pseuds/Hokuto
Summary: Mark didn't think anything of it when F'tha asked him for recommendations for human media.





	First Contact

**Author's Note:**

> What are good titles or summaries, we just don't know. ANYWAY GUESS WHAT I BADLY NEEDED TO WRITE AFTER "burn this building down," YEP, IT WAS AWKWARD ALIEN HUGS. Definitely inspired by [sabamiso029's adorable fanart](http://sabamiso029.tumblr.com/post/159672530835/please-draw-a-drinniol-carrying-roland-or-roland)!

Mark didn't think anything of it when F'tha asked him for recommendations for human media. F'tha spent a decent amount of time hanging out with him, but that didn't make for a comprehensive education on human nature or whatever F'tha was after. The options were pretty limited - a tiny chunk of stuff that Durandal decided was worth bringing with him from the _Marathon_ , plus a couple things Mark had picked up randomly on trading planets - so Mark named a few favorites from those and forgot about it by lunchtime.

A couple weeks later, after a long, grueling day clearing armored Pfhor out of a depressurized space station, Mark went up to the bridge to relax and have a drink and found F'tha already there. He raised his half-full bottle of flat beer in greeting and said, "Hey. What's up?"

"I have finished experiencing your stories," F'tha said.

"Really? Uh, great. How'd you like them?"

"There were many interesting points."

"Not really your thing, huh?" Mark planted his ass on the navigation console and took a drink. "I guess a lot of it's hard to understand - if you have any questions, I can try and answer them, but I don't know if I'll be that much help..."

"I have become aware," F'tha said, "that humans create physical contact with each other very often."

"Right - um..." He'd noticed that the S'pht weren't exactly handsy with each other, but it was hard to imagine what they would get out of touching in the first place. "We sort of - evolved that way? I don't know about animals on Lh'owon, but on Earth they, uh, they touch a lot for a bunch of different reasons, so us humans do, too. Probably different for you guys, with the whole always-being-cyborgs thing. And the mental networks."

"Many times they touch with their hands and arms and heads, but also sometimes with chest and legs," F'tha said.

Oh boy. "Like I said, there's a lot of different reasons for touching, and, uh, some of them involve - different parts -"

"Do you experience a lack of physical contact?"

Mark's brain stuttered over translating that one. "Do I - what?"

"Do you experience a lack of physical contact?" F'tha repeated patiently. "There are no other humans on _K'liah'Narhl_ to have contact with you."

"Uh - well, no, but I mean, I get by okay - it's not that big a deal..." He'd never really thought about it; he hadn't been close enough with anyone on Tau Ceti or the _Marathon_ for more than the occasional slap on the back or handshake or whatever. It had been a while since he'd gone down anywhere to drink or end up drunk-married to random aliens, though. Still, that didn't mean he was missing out on anything - did it? He touched himself, but that wasn't the same...

F'tha had floated closer while he was thinking. "I am willing to provide contact," they said, "if you are lacking."

"I, uh - that's nice of you, but you don't have to. Seriously. I'm okay. You don't have to if you don't want to."

"I desire to do this."

What the hell. "Sure, go for it, if you really want to."

He barely had time to put his beer down before he was enveloped in purple cloth, F'tha's skinny arms folded against his back and their chest gem nestled on his shoulder by his ear. The ship, bridge included, was always hot, but there was something comforting about the cloak draped over him, anyway: the extra warmth and the cover, the cool contrast of F'tha's metal arms, the gem humming faintly, an oddly pleasant sound. His shoulders, tensed at the first touch, were loosening up, and without thinking he leaned back against F'tha. F'tha didn't move, a solid, reassuring presence.

Okay, so maybe he'd been missing physical contact after all. "Thanks," he said. "This is - um - it's nice."

"I find the experience strange," said F'tha, "but not uncomfortable."

Which wasn't a ringing endorsement, but better than Mark had expected. "Well," he said, "if it starts getting uncomfortable, you can stop any time, no hard feelings." It was kind of like being wrapped in a blanket with someone, though whatever F'tha's cloak had been made from was coarser than he'd like in a blanket. Still cozy, and F'tha's elbows weren't as sharp as he'd expected, and the low hum from the gem was soothing enough after hours of work that his eyes were trying to close. F'tha probably wouldn't appreciate getting napped on, but damn it, he was tired and he liked having someone at his back to lean on for a change...

"Good news -"

Mark jumped and whacked his head against the edge of F'tha's shoulder guard. "Oww _fuck_!"

"- I've found some - oh, am I interrupting something?" Durandal's voice oozed smugness.

F'tha had darted halfway across the bridge; Mark ran his hand over the back of his head to check for damage and muttered, "You aren't now." Was that blood or sweat? Just sweat, thank God.

"I should return to my work," F'tha said, and a second later they were gone.

"You really are a giant asshole sometimes, you know that?" Mark said, glaring at the nearest terminal. F'tha would probably never speak to him again, let alone touch him. "Messing with me is one thing, but you don't have to be a jerk to F'tha. They were just trying to do something nice."

"Maybe I don't _want_ them to do anything nice for you," Durandal said. "I am the jealous type."

"The full of shit type, more like. So what was the big news?"

"Oh, nothing that important. Unless you don't want to run head-first into a hunter with a squad of troopers who managed to sneak off the station and into hangar fifteen, but if you do, by all means, sit there and drink."

Mark put a hand over his eyes and groaned. Just what he needed. "Fine. I'll take care of it." At least he'd only taken his helmet off and not already changed into regular clothes. He hated leaving that kind of crap for the S'pht; they were perfectly capable fighters, but he was still a security officer, and keeping them safe on the ship ought to be his job. "Are they still in hangar fifteen?"

"Sneaking around just outside it, assuming that I must not have noticed them yet. It's almost cute."

"On my way." He chugged the last of the beer and headed for his quarters to pick up his helmet and some guns. Fusion pistol would be best for the hunter, assault rifle for the troopers...

"If you're really feeling that starved for snuggling, I could probably come up with some kind of substitute," Durandal said as Mark passed by a terminal in the hall. "We have facilities for creating simulacrums - I could adjust the template to get rid of the more off-putting mistakes in human anatomy, replace the guts with something non-explosive -"

"I'll pass, thanks." He'd had enough fake BoBs to last the rest of his life, and the odds that Durandal would "accidentally" blow one up in his face were astronomically high. He'd just make sure he got some extra time off next time they were somewhere neutral, take the food testing kit and go drinking and look for anyone who didn't mind cozying up to a warm-blooded alien. Yeah, that should do it, and with any luck it'd amuse Durandal enough to shut him up for a while.

But as he pulled his helmet back on and picked up his guns to go take out the Pfhor, the weight and warmth of F'tha's hug still lingered around his shoulders.


End file.
